


Applied Force

by Pistol



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:03:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22041265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pistol/pseuds/Pistol
Summary: Most of what Jensen says and does makes no sense to anyone but him, and it’s obvious he likes it this way. Very few things make Jensen smile the way confused looks and glares do. It makes you wonder sometimes if his goal is to simply drive everyone as crazy as he makes himself seem.
Relationships: Carlos "Cougar" Alvarez/Jake Jensen
Comments: 18
Kudos: 81





	Applied Force

Most of what Jensen says and does makes no sense to anyone but him, and it’s obvious he likes it this way. Very few things make Jensen smile the way confused looks and glares do. It makes you wonder sometimes if his goal is to simply drive everyone as crazy as he makes himself seem.

It makes you tempted, only ever briefly, to look the other way now and then. To take an extra few seconds to line up your shot, not enough to let Jensen get hurt, but long enough to hopefully scare some sense into him.

Because he _knows_ that he makes himself a target. Talking and laughing when any other person, any _sane_ person, would be quiet. But he never shuts his mouth, because Jensen has to _push_. Jensen has to keep pushing until someone finally snaps or tries kill him.

Pooch thinks it’s Jensen’s fucked up way of protecting them by directing the negative attention away from them and onto himself. You don’t doubt that’s a small part of it, but you’re not naive enough to believe that’s all of it. You see how Jensen practically _itches_ for excitement, no matter the form, no matter the risk to himself.

The proof is there, in Jensen’s three hour monologue in a cramped fox hole during a firefight. How in between volleys Jensen had found the time and energy to compare the original Dawn of the Dead movie to the Greek economic crisis. Jensen knew no one had gotten a wink of sleep in days, and it had been made perfectly clear to him that no one cared_, _but still, he just kept _going_.

It’s there, in Jensen not bothering to move out of the way when a pissed off SEAL throws a punch at him. How Jensen only laughed when it connected and broke his glasses. It’s the fact that it took Roque and you to pull the man off Jensen, who just kept laughing and never bothered to fight back. 

Sometimes it makes you worried that Jensen is looking for someone smart enough or strong enough to shut him up permanently. That maybe Jensen won’t be satisfied until it happens. It makes you torn between the urge to hit him and the urge to tell him things, tell him _everything_, just to see if it’s enough to make him stop risking his neck.

But you can’t, you _won’t_. Because those words aren’t something someone like Jensen would understand anymore then they are something someone like you would say.

Besides, Jensen is a smart man. He knows you’re the only one to who doesn’t laugh when he tells the story about what happened in the Helmand Province. He knows you’re the first one to jump into one of his bar brawls. He knows why you gave up your cover and spent two weeks being beaten in China.

He knows these things, but he doesn’t stop playing with fire.

It doesn’t hurt as much as you think it should. In fact, it doesn’t hurt at all. You don’t take it personally, because there are things you couldn’t give up, even if Jensen asked it of you. Your faith will _always_ be a part of you, just like Jensen will always be a part of you.

And maybe chaos _is_ Jensen’s faith, and maybe that’s why he can’t give it up.

The proof is there, when Jensen uploaded a video to YouTube, with his voice reading passages from _Memoirs Found in a Bathtub_ in the original Polish while a congressman is serviced by a fourteen year old boy.

It’s there, when Jensen, with two broken ribs, knocked on the door of a Honduran General’s house. It’s that Jensen, the _idiot_, was armed only with a pocket knife and a smile when he told the man at the door that he was there to kill his boss, unless of course the General released his team.

Then there’s the rare moments. Sometimes happening so quickly you aren’t sure if you really saw it. Other times where you spend what feels like hours watching, feeling like you’re trapped in slow motion as Jensen_ lets go_. The brutal moments when you all are reminded that you don’t get assigned missions this deep in the black just by just being good with a computer.

It makes you unable to look away, because it’s easy to see that someday, sooner than later, Jensen will get bored with this. He’ll go to far, like some brightly colored cancer, pushing forward just because he _can_, and with no regard for anything or anyone else.

Maybe Jensen’s already gone too far.

But he’s a Loser, an important part of the team. Someone who makes Clay slip into bouts of paternal pride. Someone, if not the only one, who can tease Roque about his scars. Someone who helps Pooch find just the right gift for Jolene. Someone who dotes on his niece like she’s the most amazing creature to ever walk the earth. Someone who spends hours sitting silently next to you so that you’re not alone with your thoughts in an empty church that holds no meaning or function to Jensen.

Someone like that is hard to equate with the actions you’ve all witnessed, the actions that some Loser’s chose to gloss over.

The proof is there, in the way his sisters husband disappeared after she got a black eye. How the husband showed up four days later looking beat to hell with a cauterized wound between his legs. How he was unwilling to talk to anyone about what happened or who might have been involved. How the husband let Jill take _everything_ in the divorce. How he gave Jill custody _and_ child support without a fight. It’s the fact that every year Jensen still takes time to send him a Christmas card.

It’s there, in the way Jensen hums the theme song to Doctor Who under his breath while an enemy solider refuses to tell Clay where Pooch is being held. How Jensen pins the man carefully, _clinically_, to the floor, forcing the man’s body to twist just _so_ before striking him once on his back with the butt of his rifle, all the while humming softly. _Paralyzed from the neck down, but available for questioning_, Jensen had assured Clay with one of his bright smiles, _he won’t feel it, but seeing it will work just as well_. 

Sometimes you wonder if the order to put Jensen in your crosshairs is waiting just around the corner.

You wonder when someone else, someone with power, will see what Jensen is capable of.

You should worry about what he’s capable of, all of you should, but _you_ don’t. If Clay, Pooch, or Roque worry, they’re wise enough not to bring it up with you. You’ll follow Jensen anywhere and the others have known this since China.

You know that if Jensen wants to open a comic book store in Canada, you’ll learn to organize comics, order stock, and fill out tax forms. If Jensen wants to hide on a tropical island, you’ll learn how to fish for dinner, the best ways to prevent sunburns, and how to hang a hammock for two. If Jensen wants to find a house and adopt a child, you’ll learn how to fix a leaky sink, change a diaper, and figure out what people mean when they talk about a balanced diet.

You know Jensen has thought about these things. He’s whispered these quiet secrets into your skin many times in the dark. In Jensen’s dreams he’s painted you beside him, because to him you are like a lungs or a brain, something that he can’t function without. You don’t mind. After all, it’s nice to know you aren’t the only selfish one.

Every time he shares another whispered scenario of what _could_ be you find yourself squeezing your eyes closed and hiding your face in the crock of his neck. The desire for what could be, but never will be, always leaves you feeling raw.

Sometimes you, just like Jensen, like to pretend that his stories are how it’s going to be. It’s not though, and those sweet words are not what your futures hold.

You’ll never actually have the need to learn to order stock, hang a hammock, or fix a sink.

You know this because you _know_ Jensen. You know what he’s capable of. You know how that could scare someone. And because of that, you _know_ what’s coming.

Jensen doesn’t believe in second chances for the big things in life. So if someone tries to hurt him and his, they won’t live to try again. Jensen will rain his vengeance down on whoever tries like the wrath of the Angels.

So if, _no_, when Jensen is compelled to set the world on fire, you’ll be there. You’ll hand him the matches and kill any man who tries to get in his way. And because he’s Jensen, and because you’re you, the world doesn’t really stand a chance.

A man with Jensen’s talents is a threat to anything that relies on technology. A man with Jensen’s drive is dangerous because the only way to stop him is to kill him. A man with Jensen’s mind is capable of knowing what you’re thinking before you actually think it.

A man like that that also has _your_ skills at his disposal?

That man doesn’t _need_ an army. With a few keystrokes and a handful of your bullets, Jensen could bring a empire to it’s knees.

It took Hernán Cortés two years to destroy the Aztec’s empire. Cortés will look like an amateurwhen Jensen’s time comes.

And it will be easy to follow him. Because he’s Jensen, and you can still have him, still wrap yourself around him in the darkest part of the night, still listen to his stories of things you’ll never have.

The things in his stories are all well and good, but they are foreign to you both. Neither of you would know what to do with a life like that. Idyllic dreams can’t compare to his fingers in your hair and your rifle leaning against your shared bed. Those dreams can’t compare to having your ear pressed over his heart, so you can hear it beating.

If you can hear his heart beat, it doesn’t really matter to you how many other heartbeats exist.

And if the thought of Jensen letting go, of tearing apart the world with you at his side makes your own heart beat faster and makes it so you have to adjust yourself discreetly? Well, that isn’t anything you’re ashamed of. And if Jensen notices this and smiles, because he’s Jensen and he _knows_ what you’re thinking, you aren’t concerned.

Jensen _should_ know. Because letting him see this is easier and more honest then telling him those three words.

There are men who can declare their feelings easily with words, like Clay. Men that can declare their feelings with ink under their skin, like Roque. Men that can declare their feelings with rings, like Pooch. But words can be lies. Ink can be covered up. Rings slip off fingers, easily lost.

You may not give Jensen pretty words, put his name on your skin, or exchange rings, but that doesn’t matter. Because you’d stain your hands in blood, damn your soul, and betray your country for him. You’d lay the bodies of his enemies at his feet, and he’d never even have to ask it of you.

Actions like that mean more to a man like Jensen than words, ink, or rings ever could.

Besides, Jensen hasn’t asked for anything you haven’t already freely given him. And no one important has noticed the cancerous tendencies lurking behind his happy shirts and glasses, so there’s no need to lay any bodies at his feet.

Yet.

So you’ll just keep doing what you’re doing, keep placing your head on his chest in the dark so you can listen to his heart, and keep watching.

When Jensen gets bored, he’ll let you know.

**Author's Note:**

> Was previously posted, then taken down. Now it's back up. Beware the errors and typos, I suspect the files I found on my old harddrive are the pre-beta versions.  
Please don't steal any of my silly stories and change some names around and then try to sell them as books on Amazon or I'm gonna have to take everything down again.


End file.
